long ago, in New England, some rustic AEsculapius discovered that
powder-post was a sovereign balm for all flesh-wounds, causing them
to heal rapidly, without "proud flesh." And if proud flesh
appeared, the wound would still heal if it were opened and dressed
with powder-post.

What modern medical science would predicate concerning this
panacea, I know not, but thousands of cuts in rural districts
treated with powder-post did very well, and faith in it waxed
strong. So when Sam Eastman cut his foot over in the "east woods,"
all the wiseacres in the neighborhood declared that that foot must
be done up in powder-post. "If it isn't," they said, "proud flesh
will get into it, and that boy will be lame all winter."

It was a bad cut. Sam and Willis Murch had been splitting four-foot
logs, when Sam's axe, glancing from a log, had buried the blade in
his instep; the very bones were cut. There were four of us boys at
work together. We ran to him, tied a handkerchief round his ankle,
and twisted it tight with a stick; but blood flowed profusely. We
did not know how to apply a tourniquet.

When at last we had helped Sam home, night was at hand; and
although we went to all the neighbors, we could not collect enough
powder-post to dress the cut. Several people said, however, that
plenty of it could be obtained at the old Plancher barn, for the
braces of that barn had been made of cleft red oak, and were "all
powder-posted." But the Plancher barn was four miles distant, in
the clearing in the "great woods." A settler bearing the name had
cleared a farm there forty years before, and had lived there for
over twenty years. Ill fortune beset him, however. His children